


i wanna come home to you

by sunnysidedown



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 21:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13959921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnysidedown/pseuds/sunnysidedown
Summary: Monty comes home from Eton and Percy isn't there to greet him like usual so Monty goes to Percy instead.





	i wanna come home to you

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to [jbird181](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbird181/pseuds/jbird181) for introducing me to [TALK ME DOWN](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lo3lxS-6joY) by Troye Sivan.  
> Literally just looked up the music video to put that link in and wow im crying.  
> Me, a fool, like a minute into the video: Oh wow, childhood friends to lovers? Grief for a dead parent. Brb crying.  
> Me, after actually finishing the video: Please. Lay me down to die.
> 
> Anyway, I originally wrote this to test out the [ao3 feed](https://ao3feed-tggtvav.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for tggtvav, but as you can see that didn't happen. So, uh, here.

“Is Percy here?”

Those were not the first words out of Monty’s mouth when arriving home from Eton. He exchanged some greetings with his father and sister, asked after his very pregnant mother, but those words were the first ones that really mattered. He couldn’t help but rush through the formalities while discreetly turning this way and that in hopes of spying a tall, handsome boy.

The greetings passed too slow for Monty’s tastes when it was obvious he would need to put in a little more effort than opening his front door to reunite with his best friend. His luggage was moved to his rooms, his father went back to his study, and his sister went wherever little sisters went. It was just him in the foyer with a few servants carrying in the last of his stuff. No head of untamable curls, no fiddle case tucked to the side, no big, back slapping hug. Which all lead to the burning question, the words that mattered.

“Where’s Percy?” Monty asked a servant.

The servant paused with a suitcase in her arms. “Ah Lord Montague, has no one informed you? Master Percy has fallen ill and will not be making it today.”

“Ill?” Monty’s disappointment showed in the drop of his eyes, the slight fall of his shoulders, the long release of air from his lungs. His initial excitement was immediately replaced by worry, but that worry was then replaced by something colder when his father called him from his study door. It was in his father’s tone, in his posture, in the way he loosely held a letter with the unmistakable Eton crest stamped on the top that made the air harder to breathe.

“Yes Father?”

“My study. Now.”

* * *

 

Monty was going to get into more trouble for leaving the house but the deep, empty void in his chest and the building pressure behind his eyes said that his didn’t care. Every breath felt like it got stopped halfway to his lungs.

It was laughably easy to sneak out, though it may have been because the servants couldn’t be bothered to try and stop him anymore. The evening air was cool, a little chilly for the thin jacket he wore, but turning back was not an option.

The walk to Percy’s house wasn’t far nor difficult. He has made it in the middle of the night and in early mornings after a night in the taverns. Once memorably in the middle of a snow storm though he’s learned his lesson with that one.

Getting to Percy’s house was never hard, but getting into Percy’s room was a different story. The front door was obviously the best route but it was getting late and more likely than not he would get turned away. From what he knew from when Percy was ill, it wasn’t exactly contagious. Or he has been led to believe it was not. Besides if it was, catching a little cold was hardly a deterrent.

Percy’s room was on the second floor. A wide trellis leaned precariously against the house conveniently near his window. The blanket of vines that usually covered the trellis and held it stable were dry and brittle from the late fall climate.

Monty cursed softly when he tumbled onto Percy’s bedroom floor. He sat up and took a moment to take in the room he knew as well as his own. It was the same room with the same frayed rug, the same fiddle case propped by the bookcase, the same low table and chair, the same bed, the same smell of parchment and herbal teas, and the same… and then Percy.

Percy wasn’t different, but he wasn’t the same either. His hair was the same shade of black, but it was longer than when he last saw him. His face finally shed the last remaining bits of baby fat, becoming narrower, older. His freckles were less intense, faded from less time spent in sunlight. His lips were chapped and slightly parted. His chest rose with every breath he took. Bags hung under his eyes. Monty knew if Percy stood up, he would even be a few inches taller.

The time between summer and fall break was an eternity counted in the ways Percy has changed. Monty liked to believe he had Percy memorized but every time he comes home from school he realizes that his memory cannot quite catch the exact shade of Percy’s skin or the perfect way his hair curls around him or the spark of life held in his eyes. Nothing could ever replace Percy. 

Percy didn’t wake up when Monty fell into his room. Nor did he wake when Monty tripped dragging a chair over to his bedside. Monty was both relieved and worried. Percy must have been in bad shape to not even twitch at the ruckus he was making.

Monty settled in the chair. It was quiet with only Percy’s soft breathing to fill the room. He let the calm wash over him. The not quite panic, not quite fear, not quite discomfort drained from his body. Every breath he took was pushing the negatives away and filling him with relief, peace, tranquility. Percy.

Monty slouched further down into the chair and stayed there until his back started to complain.

Outside was dark, the moon shining waves of silvery light in the room. There was no point going back now. Monty pulled back the covers and slipped next to Percy.

Monty could not pinpoint the exact moment when sharing a bed with Percy became more than just sharing a bed. They’ve known each other their entire lives. Sleepovers turned into late night conversations that ended with “It’s late, I should get to my room” and “Nonsense just sleep here.” There was always a small, excruciating pause before agreement and Monty would sigh with relief when he felt the weight of Percy remain beside him. Even now in Percy’s cramped bed, it was more comfortable than his own at home.

Percy shifted and Monty held his breath. He settled down on his side, his arms drawn to his chest, his hands held loosely in front of him. His hair was out of its ribbon, left to be free to fall everywhere.

Monty reached out and placed his hand over Percy’s. When Percy didn’t stir he gently picked up his hand. His fingers were long and slender, the tips hard with calluses, musician’s hands. Monty dropped their hands back to the bed and loosely held on.

Unconsciously their breathing synced up like two off beat pendulum clocks ticking around each other until the vibrations pulled them together. With the weight of home beside him and in his hand, Monty drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else get the feeling when they write that they end up writing the same thing over and over again?  
> I think...I need to write something with a plot (aka finish the masquerade AU).
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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